How I lost my Life
by diverb
Summary: Berwald is prepared to give his life for his precious Tino. But if Tino isn't here... has Berwald even got a life to give?
1. Chapter 1

**Warnings: Serious ideas of death, injury, animal cruelty and child neglecting.**

 _It is dark in this room. Did I turn the light off? No. I didn't do that._

 _I didn't do it._

 _This chair that I'm sat in is so uncomfortable. Didn't I used to be warm and soft? Maybe it was always like this, but he made it comfy. He always made stuff nicer, brighter happier._

 _Maybe it was him that turned off the lights._

 _There are footsteps, out in the hall. The are quiet, and muffled on the carpet, but they're the loudest thing I've heard all day. Who can it be? Denmark and Norway visit on Mondays, to 'check on me'... but it was Monday yesterday. And Norway said that Iceland had gone to China for a few weeks. Probably to visit Hong Kong._

 _None of the other nations talk to me anymore. They were at the funeral, but after that, they left._

 _It can't be any of them. There's only one person it can be. I lift my head from my hands, where I have been hiding for a long time. He is at the door._

 _"Tino." I mutter, as the door creaks open. He will scold me for not fixing the table, like I said I would. He enters the-_

 _Oh._

 _After the accident, Hanatamago had to have her back legs removed. They replaced then with wheels, that she rolls around on. Ironic, really; replace her legs with exactly what took them from her._

 _I lower my head. Not again. What's happened to me? Once again I forgot to feed her, so she's come looking for food. No. I don't want to look at her. She knows that it's all my fault. She was there._

 _The small dog crawls into my lap, just like she used to, nuzzling into my chest. I place my cold hands on her head, pushing her warm form away from me._

 _"No... d'wn, g'rl." my voice is scratchy. I haven't used it for ages. Hanatamago looks up at me with big endless eyes. Those eyes saw it happen. They saw it even better than me. I place a finger over each eye, blocking her vision. Stop looking at me like that. Stop._

 _My thumbs and middle fingers close around her neck. I can feel her, staring at me, even under my fingers._

 _Stop looking at me._

 _"St'p." I mumble, the words tumbling clumsily from my mouth like a boat falling down a rocky waterfall; broken._

 _Her tail wags slightly. She thinks I'm playing. No. There's no reason to have fun anymore._

 _"St'p." I repeat, louder this time. My hold on her neck tightens, and she barks slightly._

 _"Stop!" my voice echoes off the empty walls, filling the spaces where there used to be pictures. They now lie smashed in their frames in the once fluffy carpet, covered with a layer of dust that reminds me of snow._

 _Hanatamago wriggles and squeaks, gazing up at me blankly. I can't look at her. She reminds me of everything I've done wrong._

 _"STOP." I yell. My whole body tenses up, I squeeze my eyes shut, shaking my head from left to right. My glasses clatter to the floor, my hands shake so violently that Hanatamago starts to shake as well. I squeeze quietly on her neck to stop the movement._

 _Crack._

 _No, wait._

 _This isn't where it started._

 _I got it wrong. This isn't the beginning._

 _This is the end._

 **(three months earlier)**

We used to be Vikings.

At funerals, we used to drink, and fight, and drink... and fight. We did it to celebrate the life the whoever died.

No one feels like drinking, or fighting, or celebrating.

Not even Denmark can bring himself to smile. He's gazing blankly at the inside of his untouched beer bottle. Are those tears in his eyes?

Norway's hands are shaking, and he's looking at them intently. Iceland has his hands over his mouth, as if he's holding back something.

I wonder what I look like.

Probably scary... as usual. He was terrified of me at first. I tried my best not to scare him, or hurt him. Eventually, he grew to love me. And it was the best feeling in the world.

Perhaps that's why it feels so bad now.

Denmark reaches quietly into his pocket, and pulls out a pack of cigarettes. He opens them, taking one out, lighting it, and taking a deep breath of smoke.

Norway leans forward and grabs a cigar out of the pack. Taking the lighter off Denmark, he lifts the roll up to his lips and begins to smoke.

"I- I didn't know you smoked." mutters Iceland, staring at his older brother.

"I don't." is Norway's monotone reply.

I guess I'm not the only one effected.

"Where's Peter?" asks Denmark, desperately trying to fill the gap left by... him.

"He went to bed..." says Iceland, barely looking up.

The silence

Denmark crushes his cigarette under his foot, and stands up.

"I've got to go..." he coughs slightly. "I... I just need some time..." he leaves quietly, and I hear him on his phone out in the corridor.

"... Abel?... Yeah... yeah, ok... I'll be there in a minute..." then he is gone.

I feel a burning jealousy in my chest. He's still got his special person.

Iceland looks up from his hands.

"I should probably go to..." he barely whispers.

"Ice, wait..." Norway stands with Iceland, smothering him in a hug. Any other time, Iceland would have pushed him away.

They still have each other.

Iceland sniffs, stands up straight and leaves the room. Norway returns to his seat and continues to smoke.

He doesn't say anything, so I just sit and watch the tears pour down his cheeks.

"Beklager..." he says quietly, leaving the room with his cigarette still in hand.

Now I am alone again.

Again.

Again and forever.

A/N: Well, this is new. And depressing. I know the story is all over the place, but it's designed to be like that. It will make sense in the end (I hope). Also, expect chapters to be pretty short,


	2. Chapter 2

**Warnings: Discussion of injury, death, child neglection**.

(two weeks after funeral)

"Dad?"

How is his voice still so light-hearted, happy sounding, and childish? After all of this... all of this and he can still smile.

I don't remember the last time I smiled.

"Ja..." I mutter in return, barely glancing up to where the micronation sat opposite across the table from me

"Do you want me to make you something to eat?" he asks, so politely that it's easy to tell he is related to England.

"Mm..."

Silence.

Why is it so quiet?

Oh yes.

The silence was always filled by him.

"...Dad?"

Please don't, Peter.

"Where's Ladonia?"

My other child. Our other child. These aren't my children. They were ours.

"'n bed."

"Oh... he said he was hungry..."

"Make'm s'me food th'n."

"Can I use the kitchen?"

Just go away.

"Mm." I nod slightly, and he skips off to the kitchen, humming quietly.

Surely Peter understands? He must understand; he cried, at the hospital, at the funeral, sometimes just at night. At first, I held him, comforting myself and him at the same time. Now he brings back memories that I'd rather forget.

I do forget sometimes.

I'll wake up in the morning, expecting to find him snuggled into my chest, rubbing the sleep groggily from his chestnut eyes and mumbling a sleepy 'good morning' in his native language.

Then I realise that he isn't here with me anymore. And the bed suddenly feels empty, and the whole house turns freezing cold.

I hear a clattering of pots and plates from the kitchen, coming from Peter making whatever food he is making. It will probably taste terrible; I mean, he is related to England

Why is this house so silent nowadays?

 _Knock knock._

It must be them. They come to visit so I don't get lonely.

I am lonely.

I don't want to see them. It will be the same as always:

Denmark will give me beer that I don't want, and try and be funny, but he'll end up realising that trying to cheer us up is useless, and then he'll stay in the garden smoking until it's time to leave.

Iceland will be awkward, and quiet, because he is scared to upset me, so he'll just sit in a corner listening to his depressing music sadly.

And Norway will be too understanding, and he'll stare curiously at me with his big all seeing eyes. Norway is the only one smart enough to not ask me how I am.

He knows that I am not ok.

 _Knock knock._

No, go away. I can't speak to you. You all remind me of him.

I cover my ears to block out the sound, but I can still hear Peter in the kitchen, clattering and banging.

The knocking stops, and I begin to calm down. I remove my hands from my ears.

But then suddenly, from the kitchen I hear-

A bang.

A scream.

Metal hitting the floor.

Crying.

Voices.

"Peter!" that's Iceland. So they decided to come through the back door, into the kitchen.

"God dammit, Peter, are you ok!?" and there's Denmark. That means that Norway is here to.

"N- no... my arm..." sobs Peter.

Then it clicks.

Peter is hurt.

My son is hurt.

 _Our_ son is hurt.

His son is hurt.

I spring up, thudding heavily towards the door on my feet that throb with pins and needles, about to burst out of the room when the door opens before me.

"Berwald?"

He always whispers. Even when he's shouting it sounds like he's singing a lullaby. Yet somehow his words hit me louder than a megaphone.

"Yo, Svi, what the heck are you doing?"

He never whispers. Everything about him is obnoxious. Even his hair. He crashes through the door, mouth wide in shock, cyan eyes flaring.

"Svi, it's Peter! He cut himself on a knife!" he says loudly, almost tripping over Ladonia as he comes through the door.

"Papa..? What's going on?" the ginger haired boy yawns, rubbing his eyes and glancing up at Norway and Denmark, confused. "Is Peter hurt?"

Denmark reaches down and picks Ladonia up, resting him against his chest. Norway stares unfathomably at me, before shortly blinking and looking away.

"Do you have a first aid kit?" he asks quietly.

"J-ja... it's in the cupboard in the kitchen..."

Neatly and quickly, he slips behind Denmark and out of the door, through the hall and presumably in into the kitchen.

Denmark puts down Ladonia and wales towards me, leaning in closer so that the younger micronation can't hear.

"Svi, what the fuck are you doing?" he hisses angrily.

"U-uh..."

"Why the fuck aren't you helping Peter?"

"Oh..."

Slowly, I lumber through the door and into the kitchen, my body feeling slow and heavy. In the kitchen, Iceland is kneeling on the dusty floor with Sealand on his lap, trying to stop the blood streaming from his wound and the tears streaming from his eyes. I watch from a distance as Norway returns with a bandage and a soft, wet towel to clean his cut. I watch as Iceland hugs Peter tighter, Norway gently bandaging the thin cut on the younger nation's right forearm.

Once it is all done, Norway gives Peter a small, rare smile before turning to me, a blank look on his pretty face. Peter sniffs away the last of his tears and stands up, however he doesn't let go of Iceland's hand, and I can feel the teen giving me disapproving stares behind my back.

"Perhaps we should discuss this?" suggests Norway, beckoning us all to the living room. I walk slowly after the Norwegian into the room, feeling somewhat like I just lost the little faith that my family had in me.

((two days before the incident, around thee months earlier))

"Berwald?"

I look up to see Finland staring at me, face bathed in the unnatural bright white light that glared out of his tablet screen in the dimness of our bedroom.

"Mm?" I grunt in reply, quietly examining the dark bags under his chocolate eyes. He stayed up all night yesterday with paperwork... and the day before that, Peter was ill with a cold and kept waking us up. Come to think of it, Tino barely seemed to sleep at all.

"Are you tired?" he asks, pressing the off button on his device and putting it gently on the bedside table.

I shake my head, closing my book and lying down next to him.

"Insomnia?" he snuggles quietly into my chest, soft but cold hands pressed against me.

"Ja." ever since I can remember, small cases of insomnia have randomly occurred within me, appearing at the most random times and triggered by the most useless things.

"Me too." he whispers, small body calm and warm against mine, apart from his cold little hands that I take in my own to heat them up.

I've always known that he had insomnia too, although his seems to come through over work and stress. Whenever he can't sleep, he usually stays up all night in front of the television, Hanatamago on his lap, and (occasionally) a bottle of vodka in his hand. And every time, he will what's insist that I go to bed, not wanting to be a trouble to me.

Can't he see that he's the only thing I have?

My hands trail away from his icy fingers and up towards his head, stroking the smooth platinum strands of hair as gently as my big digits will let me. I bury my nose in his scalp, inhaling the scent of his hair, that was washed only this morning.

"Swe?" his voice is muffled in my shirt, but I can always here what he's saying. Ever since I first met him, he's been the only thing that matters. Perfect, fluffy, light spirited, smiling, wonderful Tino. With his bad dress sense and his constant aura of brightness and his Christmas obsession.

Nothing, nothing in this beautiful world, can make me happier.

"I love you, Sweden." he mutters, blush forming on his soft smooth cheeks.

Perfection is this moment.

"I love you too."

The only words I can say without hesitation or stutter.

((the day after the incident))

Please.

"Sir... I'm afraid... he's gone."

No.

"Oh my god..." Iceland gasps.

"Ah... no, that's not..." Is Denmark crying already?

"Oh." Go home Norway.

"Mr. Oxenstierna?" All of you, go away.

Go away.

Go away, away, away, away, away, away, away, away, away, away, away, away, away, away, away, away, away, away, away, away

Leave me alone.

Alone.

Lone.

Now I am all alone.

Tino.

Tino!

 _Tino_.

* * *

A/N: Sorry that this chapter is kind of short. I've been really busy lately (I wrote half if this in rehearsal for the performance of Alice in Wonderland that I'm doing.)

Just a few things: As you've probably guessed, Finland is, um, no longer with us. In the time skips, when it says 'the incident' it means the accident that killed him. Ok?

Sorry for all the time skips. That's just the way I want the story to work. Thanks for reading :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Warnings: Sex, death, injury, depressed! sweden, Christmas feels, bad language, gays and lots of great sad things.**

((the day of the incident))

"Will y'marry me, Tino?"

One of the most important questions I'll ever ask.

I am answered with Silence.

Sigh.

Of course the mirror won't answer me.

I turn away from the reflective glass, blush on face, ring in hand. Half an hour of practising. Can I do this? Yes...

Yes. I just need a practise.

"Tino, would'ya like t' maybe... m'rry me?"

Is the ring good enough? I got it specially. Silver, just the right size, and engraved into the inside is 'I love and' and 'I love you.' I have a matching one.

It has to be perfect for him.

Now all I need is the confidence to ask him.

"W'll y'marry-"

"Berwald? Who are you talking to?"

The sound of fluffy pink slippers padding up carpeted stairs alerts me of Tino coming, and I jump so much I nearly drop the ring. Swiftly pocketing it, I snatch up my phone from the bed and lift it's cold surface to my ear just as Finland enters the room.

"Swe?" his head pops round the door, closer followed by his jumper-clad body, Hanatamago nipping playfully at his cushioned slippers. My breath catches, just like every time I see him; I knew I was in love at first sight.

Hanatamago pads swiftly into the room, and Tino jumps to here him back out.

"Hanatamago! Bad girl! You know you're not allowed in here!" He shuts the door behind him as he enters, closing Hanatamago outside.

I drop my hand down, taking the phone away from my face. I place it gently onto the bed, and walk slowly towards Tino, my heavy feet making the old floorboards scream in strain. My Finnish lover's hazel eyes look expectantly up at me as I approach him.

"W's j'st on the ph'n with m'boss." I explain.

"Oh, ok." he smiles, warm and welcoming, in a way that's just too cute; perfection was never so perfect. Almost uncontrollably, my arms wrap around Finland and pull him towards my body in a tight hug. He gasps lightly, body tense, but I slowly stoke his hair and he rests his head on me. Just the way it should be.

"You know... Sealand and Ladonia are both at school..." smiles Tino, blush taking over his pale face as he leads me towards the bed. It takes all I have got in me to not attack him with kisses and hugs. He sits cross-legged on the soft cream sheets, bringing me down to sit next to him as he takes my big, calloused hands in his small, cold fingers.

He always has cold hands.

Icy little fingers with soft, frozen skin and frosty, bitten nails. I've done everything I can to get then warm. Constantly holding them in my own hands, massages, well-lit fires, specially made gloves and many more things. It feels wrong, somehow. How can such a warm person have such freezing hands? It's a mystery, and I won't rest until I've solved it. Still, his hands are cold, and he claims they always will be.

"If you wanted to, we could..." We've done this so many times before. So why does he get all awkward? He knows my body and I know his. And there is nothing, nothing I could ever to do hurt. Even if I tried... I could never harm Tino.

I pull him towards me and our lips meet, and he squeaks quietly out of shock as his hands fly up, clasping onto my face like he's going to fall away.

Like I'd ever let him go.

He's quick to allow me access to his mouth, my tongue eager to explore even though I've tasted his cavern of teeth many times before. His mouth always tastes like home cooking, and hot chocolate, and Christmas pudding; just how he should taste. And then his hands are wondering, lingering on my shoulders, my chest, my stomach. His cold fingers undo my shirt buttons one by one, as my kisses travel down his chin, onto his neck and eventually his shoulders. I suck on the spot on his collarbone that I know is sensitive to touch, and his whole body shivers and shakes with moans that I know he'll only let me hear.

Gasping for air, he pushes me backwards so that I'm lying on my back on the bed. He straddles me, hand gently brushing the love bite that I left on his neck, smiling nervously down on me.I let his icicle fingers roam on my chest, shivering at his cold touches as I slowly pull his jumper up over his head.

As he guides my hands towards his crotch, I hear a scuffling at the door. My heads jerks in the direction of the noise as my fingers disappear down his pants, but as I crane my neck to take a closer look, Tino grabs my face and kisses me, pressing his lips hungrily against mine as if I'm the only food left in the whole world. As we break apart for breath, I turn towards the door once more, intent on finding out what's making that noise. Tino is oblivious, not noticing the sound at all apparently as he unzips his trousers and pulls them off his pale legs.

"Swe?" he climbs onto my lap, taking my head in his hands and turning it to face him. "I'm ready."

"Mm." What is that noise? Not knowing is killing me; I'd someone watching us? That sounds a lot like something a certain Dane would do...

"Swe? W-what's wrong?" he follows my gaze to the door, the scratching noise present as ever. His eyes widen.

"That noise... Oh!" He jumps off me, scurrying quickly to the door in only his underwear.

"Wait-" I say as his hand grabs onto the door knob, turning it, opening the door to reveal...

"Hanatamago! Oh, you naughty girl."

The dog.

It was our dog.

Tino's arms close around the fluffy white pet, bringing him over to the bed where I'm still lying, shirt undone.

"She needs a walk." Tino concludes, grabbing his trousers up off the floor and running a hand through his messy hair.

"Mm..." I mutter, slightly disappointed. No, more than that. I love my Tino, and I want him to feel my love.

"Sorry, Berwald." he smiles apologetically, kissing my cheek with his chapped lips. "We can do it later, I promise. I'm going to take Hana for her walk. Won't be long!"

He takes his coat from the wardrobe, pulling it over his jumper as he stuffs his feet into winter boots, holding the dog leash in his mouth as he clumsily multitasks. I do up my shirt and grab my winter jacket too.

"'m comin' too."

I go to straighten his woolly hat, adjusting the soft knit with my big fingers, but I can't help myself from pulling his chin up and kissing him one last time, before we leave.

"Let's go, shall we?" says Tino, face flushed and smiling from the kiss.

"Mm."

Lets go and stay together forever.

* * *

((25th of December))

From miles above, the country of Denmark looks quite different. It's just starting to snow, and the white flakes are falling upon the twinkling lights of Copenhagen, and I know that by the morning it will be a winter wonderland.

I rub my gloved hands together to try and get some feeling into my freezing fingers as I look into the back of the flying sleigh to check on the children.

"Y'kay?" I ask. Sealand looks up, his blue eyes glowing from the green illuminated numbers on the watch he has on his wrist.

"It's Christmas Day!" he grins, holding up his watch to show the screen reading 12:00 AM. "Merry Christmas, everyone!"

"God Jul" grumbles Ladonia, rubbing his eyes and sticking out his tongue.

"God Jul" I say in return. Finland turns his head, hands still on the reins of the sleigh, hair flying in the cold wind.

"God Jul!" he cries, smile bright and cheeks rosy, "God Jul, everyone!"

Sealand pouts and crosses his arms.

"It's not fair! I can't speak Swedish. You shouldn't speak Swedish without me!"

"It's not my fault I'm Swedish." retorts Ladonia.

"Well it's not my fault you're all Swedish either!"

"But Papa isn't Swedish. He's from Finland."

Sealand looks up at Finland.

"How do you say Merry Christmas in Finish?"

Tino rubs his eyes and smiles.

"We would say Hyvää Joulua."

"Hvyää Joulua." repeats Peter.

Tino turns back to face the front of the sleigh, Santa hat and scarf flapping in the wind.

"It's a great night for it!" he says, looking down upon the land below us.

"Mm." I nod.

"And less than half the countries left to deliver presents to! Next stop: Iceland!"

Sealand's head pops up over the back of our seats.

"Iceland! Do you think we'll see Emil?"

Tino shrugs.

"He's probably asleep, Peter."

"But Emil gets to stay up late! He told me that he stays up late to talk to Hong Kong, who's his boyfriend. I know he has a boyfriend because I asked him, and he said maybe, which means yes."

"Ok, ok. Stop rambling Peter." Finland laughs, "Although I might have to tell Norway about this."

"Hm." I look at him, and I know that this is where he's meant to be. For the most stressful time of the year for him, he is undoubtedly happy. It's so perfect I can't help myself but smile at him.

"Not long and we'll be home." he says to me, smiling tiredly.

"Ja." he leans over and kisses me gently, cold chapped lips brushing mine. "God Jul."

"Eww! Ladonia, they're kissing again!" squeals Peter, and Finland laughs.

* * *

((a few hours later))

A quiet click sounds as I turn the key in the lock of our wooden door, opening it as quietly as is possible with shivering hands. Sealand zooms past me, speeding down the corridor in his winter boots with his scarf flying behind him. He bursts through the doorway into the living room and gasps loudly, giggling in delight.

"He came! He came! Santa came!"

Finland walks into the corridor, closing the door behind him, wearily smiling as he picked up a sleepy Ladonia from the floor.

"Someone's excited." he yearns. Ladonia looks up, rubbing his eyes and taking off his hat slowly.

"Did we get presents...?" he mumbles. Peter, right on cue, comes bouncing back into the hallway.

"Can we open our presents now? Pleease?" he begs.

"Peter, it's seven in the morning." says Tino kindly. "You've been awake all night. Maybe you should go to bed now and open them when you wake up later?"

Sealand pouts, but yawns all the same. "But Papa, I want to open my- yawn- presents."

"Come on, you." Tino takes his hand and leads him up the stairs, quietly telling him to be quiet because the neighbours are asleep.

The young micronations fall asleep almost as soon as they lie down, Peter still muttering about presents as he closes his eyes.

"Ugh." Finland flops down onto the bed next to me, not even bothering to remove his Santa suit as he buries his face in the sheets.

"Y'ok?" I ask.

"Wake me up on boxing day." is his muffled reply.

I chuckle and stoke his hair lightly, flicking out the light and pulling the white covers over us like a fresh layer of snow.

* * *

A/N: Sorry that this chapter is so short and feels filled. Also, sorry for all the Christmas. At the time of writing, it's Christmas eve, so i'm feeling rather festive.

Anyway, thanks for reading.

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